


The light is no mystery

by sensorium



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Billy Hargrove Deserves Better, Billy Hargrove Has Powers, Billy Hargrove Lives, Billy Hargrove Redemption, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, M/M, Robin has an unnamed gf, give robin a gf, rewrite of the s3 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-08-18 21:51:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20198749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sensorium/pseuds/sensorium
Summary: The mystery is that there is something to keep the light from passing through.He sits there for a beat, cheek in the palm of her hand, not quite leaning into it but not pushing it away, and then Billy opens his eyes.or, Billy doesn't die, and he gets the chance to heal and be better.





	1. I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta read! All mistakes are my own.

He’s hurting. _They_ are hurting. The little shits are throwing fireworks at them. The girl is struggling, still trying to get away. It’s futile. They will run out of fireworks. He will kill them, he will make the girl watch, and then he’ll kill her.

She’s struggling, he’s fighting through the pain to keep her down, to keep her _still_, and then she stops. Stops struggling, stops trying to get away, just ... stops. She looks up at him, desperate but still not trying to get away, and gasps out, “Seven ... feet.”

He freezes. _Billy_ freezes.

“You told her ...” Her eyes are searching his face, looking at him, looking through him. She saw him freeze; she’s looking for the parts of Billy that are poking through. She knows he’s in there somewhere. “The wave was seven feet.”

She can see the moment the memory flashes in his mind. He unfreezes, trembling a little, eyes wide in disbelief, looking down and then back up, looking at her while not looking at her, his eyes are unfocused like he’s miles away. “You ran to her, on the beach.” She takes in a shuddering breath, eyes still darting over his face, still looking through him, waiting for him.

“There were seagulls.” He tilts his head away from her in confusion and what might be disbelief, eyes widening for a second, and he’s almost there. He’s almost free. He tilts his head back down towards her and freezes again, waiting. It’s a more natural stillness this time. She keeps talking.

“She wore a hat ... with a blue ribbon. A long dress with a blue and red flower. Ye - Yellow sandals, covered in sand.” Her voice breaks on the word yellow in a way she can’t help, in a way that betrays her fear and pain. She’s nearing the end of the list of things to describe about the memory. He looks down for a moment, and as his body sways a little, she sees that the black veins on his face are receding. He looks back up at her confused and a little pained, and she knows he’s trying. She knows. She takes a deep breath and gets ready to finish this, to say what she knows will reach Billy in whatever corner of his mind he’s trapped in.

“She was pretty.” His face relaxes and he closes his eyes, like he’s remembering her. He looks almost peaceful, and his body may be here crouched over hers in the mall, his mind may not fully be his again yet, but the parts that are, they’re on that beach again. _Billy_ is basking in the warmth of that memory.

“She was really pretty.” She’s nodding and crying, remembering what she saw in his mind and how she felt, how _Billy_ had felt. He nods back at her, eyes full of tears, face tight in order to stop them from falling, and more of the black veins are receding, more of Billy is coming back to the surface. He’s so close.

“And you ... you were happy.” He’s frozen again, tears collecting on his lower lashes looking ready to spill at any moment, and the black veins on his face are gone. She tentatively reaches her hand up, slowly, letting him know what she’s going to do before she does it, and he still doesn’t move. She rests her hand on his cheek, gently, softly, and he closes his eyes almost reverently. Tears drip down out of his eyes immediately, and he sits there for a beat, cheek in the palm of her hand, not quite leaning into it but not pushing it away, and then Billy opens his eyes.

*****

There is a girl under him.

He is crouching over her and her body is tense, she’s crying, and as she rests her hand on his cheek, to ground him, to help him set himself free, he closes his eyes and cries. He hasn’t been held like this in as long as he can remember. He cries and as he opens his eyes again, he thinks that the bruise on her neck is exactly the same size as his hand.

The memory comes to him slowly and then all at once, like puncturing a tiny hole in a balloon only for it to explode a moment later.

_She’s on the floor, crying. He’s sweating. He’s straining against himself, but not in a way anyone can see. Not in a way that matters. He kneels over her, grabs her by the hair, looks around at all of her useless pathetic friends, knowing they won’t stop him, that they can’t stop him, he can’t even stop himself, and he puts his hand on her throat, choking her. He lifts her off of the floor and into the air like she’s a ragdoll. He squeezes tighter, cutting off her screams, her air, and as her face goes red with exertion, he squeezes tighter still. She’s flinging her arms at him, kicking him, still trying to wheeze out a scream, but he’s been working out since he learned what it meant. A thirteen-year-old girl is no match for his body, not when he isn’t in control of it. He feels sick. He’s crying, but nobody notices. Nobody sees. The annoying one cracks him over the head with a metal rod, and he hits the ground. He’s relieved, but the thing inside him is angry, gets up instantly, ready to attack. He’s trying to stop himself but failing, and then he’s in the air. For a single moment, he is suspended in the air. The creature is using his body to scream like it’s being murdered, and the girl is screaming right back in his face as blood gushes out of her nose. In that moment he thinks, thank you, he thinks, I’m sorry, and she flings him through the brick wall._

He gets up. He stands up and turns towards the creature, the _monster_ he helped build, and he’s terrified.

He has to do this. He has to stop what he started. It wants to kill this girl, this girl who somehow managed to dig through his entire life, his entire mind, and found the one happy memory he had. This girl who brought his mother back to him, even if only for a moment. It wants to kill her. It wants to kill him. He doesn’t give a shit about himself, he hasn’t since the first time he saw his father hit his mother, but this girl, she’s young. She’s innocent. She has her entire life ahead of her. She has so much left to do, so much life left to live, and she deserves it all. He isn’t a good person, he hasn’t been for a while, but he can do this. He can do this, and even if it isn’t for himself, he can do this for her. He can make his death mean something, to make up for all the shitty things he’s done in his life. He’s hurt so many people, he can die helping someone. It’s poetic, almost. The monster turned hero in its final moments. 

The creature is staring him down now, willing him to move, realizing that it’s lost its hold on him when he doesn’t, when it sees that he isn’t backing down. It rears its ugly tentacle tongue arm back, ready to strike, and it lunges.

The girl raises her arms in front of her face in an X to protect herself, to ward it off, and his vision goes misty red with rage as he lunges at it, as he puts himself in its way and grabs it, as he pushes back.

The entire time he’s just pushing, screaming so hard his throat burns, just screaming “NO!” She won’t die like this. She won’t die here. Only one more person has to suffer, only one more person has to die, and it’s not her. It’s him.

He pushes harder, screams louder, and the creature has slackened the tentacle minutely in what might be surprise, enough to give him a moment of reprieve, and he swears he sees Max in the corner of his eye. He’d recognize that hair anywhere.

The creature stabs a tentacle into his side, and it’s teeth bite into him instantly. He’s still holding onto the first one, still pushing, still screaming, but all he’s thinking is _I am going to die, and Max is going to see it._

Another tentacle comes around to his other side, biting and angry and painful, and it cuts his scream off abruptly. He slips a little. He looks down to catch himself, and everything sounds echoey and far away, like he’s underwater, but he swears he hears Max screaming his name.

He can’t let her watch him die. She has to get out of here. She has to leave.

He looks back up at the creature and sees two more tentacles snaking out towards him. He lets them stab him. He lets go of the main one, or maybe he’s so weak he lets it just slip out of his hands. The pain forces him down onto his knees and he’s screaming again, black blood coming out of his mouth. It burns like fire going up and he swears it singes his skin as it pours down his front. But he keeps screaming. He lets the creature hurt him, lets it focus on him, in the hopes that it’ll give everyone else a chance to run. A chance to get away to safety. 

He sees the creature rearing the main tentacle, the one that comes out of what seems to be its mouth, and it’s aiming for center mass. This is the killing blow. This is it, but he won’t go down easy. He’s been fighting monsters (a monster) his entire life. He won’t go down quietly, not this time. _Come and get me, motherfucker._

He screams louder and harder than he has in his entire life, he clenches his fists, collects all of his anger and hate and pain and fear, and pours it all out into a scream that he’s sure will be his last. The tentacle lunges at him, he feels the initial piercing pain of the bite into his chest, feels it slice into flesh and muscle and as his scream reaches fever pitch, as he’s raising his arms away from his body, just screaming, putting his entire body into it, ready to die, it’s gone. Just as fast as it came. 

Something is happening.

He stops screaming. He notices the mouths of the tentacles attached to his sides are ... loosening. They drop away from him and don’t move to reattach themselves. They lay there, and the creature starts to sway on its many feet. 

The creature is wailing and stumbling like it’s been hurt, like it’s afraid, and he forces himself up to his feet. His shirt is soaked in black and red blood, blood that belonged to the creature and blood that belongs to him, but he doesn’t understand. 

He sways as he stands. He’s lost so much blood. But he has to fight it off, and since he clearly can’t kill it, he’ll have to die trying. He has to make sure it doesn’t take anyone else.

He hears shuffling behind him, like someone unsteady on their feet. He turns to see the girl from before limping towards him, and he sees Max rush towards her to help her stand. 

“It’s you.” She’s trembling, her words slurring together a bit because of pain and exhaustion. “Your scream.” She reaches towards his face, to do what, he doesn’t know, and he flinches back. He hurt her. She’s done enough. She shouldn’t be anywhere near him.

“Billy” Max’s voice breaks through the fog of pain and fear he’s in, and he finally lets himself look at her. She’s sweating and crying, and the bruise on her face is red and angry and it looks like it hurts. He did that to her. He presses his lips together tightly and looks away from her immediately. They should’ve left him at the mercy of the monster.

“Max. Take your friend and get out of here.” They’ve shuffled over too far to the side, so he maneuvers himself in front of them again, between them and the monster. He needs to protect them. This is something he can finally do, it’s the only thing he can do. They have to let him do it. “If this thing is focused on me,” He flits his gaze back to it quickly, it’s gone from wailing and stumbling to crashing into various storefronts and balconies, disoriented enough to not be a danger in the immediate moment. He looks back at Max, looks her in the eye and tells her, “If this thing is focused on me, you can all get away to safety. You need to take her and run. Now.”

Max’s face goes through a myriad of emotions at once. She finally settles on something that looks almost like agony. “Billy! -” He steps back, away from them, towards the creature again, who’s screams have been coming fewer and far between. “Billy! Listen - You can fight it!” Her voice is frantic, words rushing out almost on top of each other with how fast she’s going, showing how desperate she is to get everything out before he turns back towards the monster and she loses him again, for good this time. “When you were screaming before, you were hurting it! Like how El hurt it with her powers, and they’re going to close the gate soon, and it’ll be dead, you just have to hold out until then! Billy! Please.”

He’s confused until the girl, El, wipes under her nose and points to him. He mirrors the gesture and feels wetness. He looks at his hand and sees it covered in blood. Red blood. His blood. 

“I- I did that?” He points back towards the monster. 

“Yes.” El says solemnly, “You are like me.”

Billy scoffs and his eyes start watering, and he turns his head away. He has to look away from her. She’s seen every terrible thing inside his head, every shitty thing he has ever said and done, and she still treats him like this. Comparing him to her. As if he was even a hundredth of the person she is, as if he could ever be.

“You have to concentrate. It will hurt. I can’t help, sorry. My powers are used up like bad battery. But you can do it.” He turns back and looks at her earnest, honest face, her skinny arm still around Max’s shoulder, the way she’s reaching out to him, and he relents. He puts his hand in hers.

He looks into her eyes, and they’re ancient. They are eyes that have seen and endured unspeakable horrors. Things that would make grown men shit their pants and pass out in fear. She has stood against evil with nothing but her own mind, endured inhumane treatment and torture with her teeth bared. She has killed monstrous people and creatures with a single nod of her head and done it without blinking. She has turned her unflinching anger and stubbornness into something he never could, she’s taken her power and helped. She’s done good. She is good. And she has only had herself for so long. 

She can’t fight right now, not like she used to, and as she clenches her hand around Billy’s, he realizes that she’s trusting him, she is trusting _him_, with _this_. With her life. With all of their lives. She is trusting him, and she doesn’t even know him. She does it without a second thought, like it’s innate, like it’s obvious. His eyes are watering again, and he’s shaking his head no, because he can’t believe it, no one can be this good, and he tries loosening his hand from her grip, but she just nods at him in understanding, and maneuvers around Max to hold his hand in both of hers, not letting him go. 

“Yes. I know you can do this. You are good. I trust you.”

Max is holding her around the waist now, nodding along feverishly, eyes owlishly wide, mouth and face still tight with fear. 

“Billy” Max reaches out to put one hand on top of El’s while still holding her around the waist with the other. Her eyes are watering too, and she looks as embarrassed as he feels to be crying this much in so little time. “You can do this. We know you can.” She gestures to the entire mall. “We all know you can. We believe in you. You’re an asshole and yeah, you’ve done bad things, but you’re not a bad person. You don’t deserve to die. Not today, and not like this.” A couple of traitor tears escape her eyes and run down her cheeks, she rubs them away almost furiously, collecting herself as she finally says, “Don’t turn me into an only child, you ass.” Her voice cracks with the final insult, and El nods at him with a soft smile on her face. She heard what Max was really trying to say too. _I love you. Don’t leave me._

He’s crying now. He’s crying like a goddamn baby, and El is wiping away his tears but they just keep coming, like he’s finally opened the dam. He’s crying about the fact that they care about him, they care about him after everything he’s done, after everything he’s let happen. He doesn’t deserve it, but maybe it’s not about deserving.

The monster has reoriented itself, picked itself back up and planted itself firmly again, and he hears everyone on the balconies above screaming warnings. He hears the sharp intake of breath behind him as Max shuffles El back, away from it, and he thinks that she couldn’t have picked a better time to start listening to him.

Billy turns back towards the monster, stalks towards it, closer than he’s ever been as himself, and he puts his arms out in front of him like he remembers seeing the girl do. He takes his rage and pain and fear and _love_ and channels them into his balled-up fists, and then he opens them, palms out towards the monster, fingers splayed open, and pushes, and screams.

The monster screams back. 

He pushes and pulls with everything inside him, mind going fuzzy with pain, mouth filled with the familiar and now welcome coppery taste of blood, and the monster wails.

“You’re not killing anyone else today, motherfucker. No one else is going to die. You’re not going to get her. You’re never going to get anyone ever again.”

It falls down onto its front legs, and then it’s back legs collapse, and it reaches out with a multitude of tentacle mouths. He manages to snap a few of them off, but more keep coming, and he can’t keep them all back, he can’t stop them all at once, and they’re getting too close. He’s straining. Every wound the tentacles inflicted on him burns like hot pokers have been stuck into them, blood is coming out of his ears, his nose, pouring into his mouth and washing away the monster’s filth, his body throbs, his vision is going blurry and he doesn’t know if it’s from pain or blood loss. He falls down to his knees, still pushing, still fighting. The monster starts to split in two and everything is static, someone is screaming, louder and louder and louder until the monster collapses. 

It’s silent.

He collapses soon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Invictus by William Ernest Henley.
> 
> Please leave a comment and/or kudos if you liked it! I live for feedback.


	2. I am the master of my fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hates being vulnerable, but they’ve all seen him practically bleeding his guts out. Can’t get much more vulnerable than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was intending on making this a two parter but after I wrote this I realized it wasn't enough, I wasn't finished with Billy, and he wasn't done with me. So, as of now this is going to be a three parter! Again, this is not beta read and all mistakes are my own.

He comes to in a hospital bed with the moonlight shining through a window on his left. He doesn’t remember how he got here. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here.

Steve is sitting in a chair under the window, head tilted back, face relaxed with sleep, feet up on the foot of the bed Billy is in. Max is asleep in a chair on his right side, her entire body curled up to fit onto the seat.

Everything hurts, but the worst part about healing, the part that nobody ever talks about or even thinks about, isn’t the pain. Pain can be managed. If you’re used to being in pain, eventually you won’t really feel the wounds that hurt you so badly the first time you got them. Pain becomes an echo. A familiar friend.

The worst part about healing is the itchiness. He’s got open wounds all over his sides, gaping wounds where the monster’s tentacles bit into him and took chunks of his skin with them. The wound on his chest isn’t as deep as the others, so it’s scabbed over during the time he’s been out, but it’s more prominent. It’s the easiest to get to. And it itches beyond belief.

He’s so itchy he doesn’t even realize he’s been scratching until Max is up and running out into the hall screaming for a nurse, until Steve grabs his wrists and forces him to look up at him and be still, until his hands are wet with his own blood, and how couldn’t he have felt that? Shouldn’t it be hurting? Shouldn’t he have been able to stop himself?

The thought sends him into a panic that has his heart racing and his body shaking almost instantly. Steve is still holding onto his wrists, loosely but enough to ground him, and he looks into those big, too kind eyes, and begs. He begs.

“Steve, Steve, please. You have to stop me. You can’t let me hurt anyone. I couldn’t stop scratching; I didn’t even feel it.” He might be crying but he’s too far gone to care. “You have to stop me before I hurt anyone. You have to stop me!” He’s yelling at Max now, who’s standing in the doorway of the room waving the doctors and nurses in, and one of them is holding a syringe, and he’s fucking terrified. What if it doesn’t work? What if they can’t stop him? “Max! MAX! Get out of here! Get away! You need to leave! It’s not safe! I’m not safe!”

Something sharp pinches his neck and he succumbs to the soft darkness that creeps in.

He never remembers it. He remembers the grogginess of maybe being awake and passing out again almost instantly. He can’t ever be sure. No one corrects him when he asks, and no one reminds him of what he said.

*****

He’s laying down on his back with his eyes closed. Something in the distance is beeping steadily.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Beep. Beep.

Beep.

He remembers.

Heather is on the floor of the warehouse beneath him, flailing, trying to scramble away from him, and he slams her down roughly into the concrete, leans over her, and whispers with a voice that used to belong to him but doesn’t really, not anymore. He says, _don’t be afraid. It’ll be over soon. Just stay very still._ He takes the tape off of her mouth and stands up. She screams. He does nothing. She screams and he doesn’t move. The creature slinks towards her, and he still doesn’t move. He can’t.

BeepBeepBeep.

She was looking for him. She wanted him to show her what happened, where the monster was. She sounded far away, like she was at the end of a very long tunnel. He remembers grabbing her hand, looking up at her, and then she’s pulling away, she’s falling, down down down, and then he’s falling too. It’s the monster, not him, who stands back up.

_You shouldn’t have looked for me. Because now I see you. Now we can all see you._ She looks terrified, she starts backing away from him and he walks towards her, even though he doesn’t want to. _You let us in. And now, you are going to have to let us stay._ His eyes are watering, he can feel it. He’s trying to stop, he doesn’t want to hurt this girl, he doesn’t want to scare her like this, but he can’t._ Don’t you see? All this time, we’ve been building it. We’ve been building it, for you._ He hates this. He hates that he’s doing this, that he can’t stop it. His eyes are watering even more now, and tears will soon be falling down his face, which is one thing the monster can’t control. His body and mind may not be his, but his eyes are his own. His eyes still belong to him. _All that work, all that pain, all of it, for you._ He’s cornered her against a table now, but he keeps moving forward, and she slips past it, moving farther back, because he keeps moving towards her. Because he can’t stop. _And now it’s time. Time to end it. And we are going to end you, and when you are gone, we are going to end your friends._ It’s the first thing he says that makes her react beyond tears and shaking her head. She screams “No!” She lets out a sob that has her almost doubled over and she moves back to brace herself on the sink on the wall. _And then, we are going to end, everyone._ A single tear slips down his cheek. Another fight with himself that nobody sees. The girl has had enough. She screams, “Get away!” Thrusts her arm out and pushes, and he goes flying through the air.

BeepBeepBeepBeepBeep

The monster is on him again, shoving something down his throat, burying it deep inside him, so deep he didn’t even know it was there until it was activated. He loses himself in the sauna. The monster wakes him up and maneuvers his body like he’s a puppet, smashing through the little window in the door. The children are terrified, there’s a sharp, slicing pain on his cheek and he goes down, and the monster picks him back up. It’s a terrifying cycle. He’s never strong enough to fight it, never strong enough to pick himself up, to wake himself up, to break himself out of the hold it has on him.

BeepBeepBeepBeepBeep

He’s sitting in his car. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here. He sees them come out and his entire body tenses. They’re in the car, trying to start it. It won’t start. The monster made sure that he made sure of it. He revs the engine. He revs the engine and with everything in him, wills himself not to move. Not to change gears. Not to press the gas pedal. He keeps revving the car. They give up and run back into the mall. He lets himself almost relax. 

They come back out, and he should’ve known better. The monster was only humoring him, letting him believe he was in control. This time he can’t hold himself still long enough. He can’t stop it. He’s barreling towards them and he’s crying, he’s anguished but he can’t stop it and _he is going to kill them_ but maybe he’ll die too, better yet, maybe the impact will kill only him. He never has to find out. Harrington comes and rams some yellow monstrosity into him at the last second and he sits there as the car catches fire. He lets himself sit in the heat and be himself in his body again but then all too soon the monster pushes up and over and he’s drowning. He’s drowning and his body isn’t his own as he stumbles out of the car.

BeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeep

He’s thrashing now, trying to get away from the tentacles around his arms and legs, clawing at his chest because it itches, it burns, coughing violently to get it _out,_ and a voice cuts through his panic, someone screaming “BILLY!”

He opens his eyes and sits up abruptly, shaking and breathing hard like he’s ran a marathon, hand on his chest, on the wound that is bleeding _again,_ and he realizes that there were never any tentacles.

Seven pairs of eyes are on him right now, looking at him from around the hospital bed he’s sitting in, looking worried, looking scared. Max is crying again, her hand around the arm that’s on his chest, the arm that he used to scratch himself back open.

Steve is on his other side, holding his left forearm, and he looks down at his left hand and realizes there’s an IV needle in it. As soon as he looks at his arm Steve lets go of it, and he must’ve been trying to keep him still, so he didn’t tear the IV out. He’s holding his cheek in a way that suggests it’s been wounded, recently, and he frowns at him immediately. Steve just smiles at him, embarrassed, and maybe a bit, relieved? “For a dude who’s so built, you have weirdly sharp elbows man.”

The kids around the foot of his bed huff in annoyance (and what no one would admit to being relief). They move away from the bed and crowd around the two chairs by the door. Max lets go of his arm but doesn’t move away from him, and a moment later his hand is in hers as she uses a wet wipe to get the blood off. He doesn’t mention the fact that they’re both crying. Nobody does.

“How – How long,” he tries to speak, but his throat is dry, and he swears he tastes blood after saying just those words. He tries clearing his throat, regrets it almost immediately as he tastes another wave of blood, and he can’t keep in the wince at the pain. El grabs a cup with a straw that’s laying on a tray by his bed and holds it out to him, hovering until he grabs it with both hands and nods his thanks to her. He takes a sip and it washes the taste of blood from his mouth, but it burns his throat going down. He wonders if he should be worried. Probably not, he’s had worse.

“Ok, thanks El. How long have I been out? It had to have been a couple days at least, I know I was pretty messed up.”

He can see them all looking around at each other, as if they’re deciding what to tell him, and he doesn’t fucking appreciate it. “Listen here you little shits. I almost fucking died. I know that much. I’ve obviously been out for a little bit; I just want to know how long. Can you tell me that, or am I not fucking allowed to know things about my own goddamn health?” He’s too rough, too mean, he let his voice go too cold with anger and frustration, and he sees as much as feels everyone holding their breath.

“I just-” He cuts himself off and leans back onto the pillows, raises his left arm to pinch the bridge of his nose and aborts the movement when it twinges all the wounds on his torso. He closes his eyes tightly and lets out a heavy sigh. He hates being vulnerable, but they’ve all seen him practically bleeding his guts out. Can’t get much more vulnerable than that.

“I need to know how long I’ve been out. How long I’ve been - me, but not me.” He opens his eyes but keeps his gaze on the ceiling. He doesn’t want to see how everyone is reacting to his admission. “Does that make sense?” His eyes are still focused on the ceiling when someone speaks up.

“It makes sense.” He winces as he sits himself back up and focuses on whoever just spoke, which turns out to be baby Byers. “You’ve been out for a week. Seven days. They had to ... sedate-” His voice cracks before he can finish his sentence and he swallows hard. There is something far away, pained, and too fucking _familiar_ in his eyes, something in the way he holds himself, in the way he’s wearing two more layers than everyone else, and Billy doesn’t like it. Not one bit. He doesn’t miss how everyone in the room gets somber and quiet once he’s cut himself off. 

Baby Wheeler puts his hand on baby Byers’ shoulder and interrupts the silence, finishing the sentence for him. “They had to sedate you. For your own safety.”

He’s aware enough to realize the implication. He takes a deep breath and grits his teeth. “Was it for my own safety? Or was it for the safety of everybody else?” Were they afraid he couldn’t handle the truth? He remembers what he did. He knows the kind of evil he’s capable of. 

The curly haired one slaps baby Wheeler on the back of the head as Sinclair facepalms. “Don’t be such an ass! You know how that sounded!” He turns to look at Billy and says, very matter of fact, “They had to sedate you because you kept thrashing and they were afraid you’d do more damage to yourself before your wounds got the chance to heal. At least, I think that’s what they said.” He scrunches his nose and nods to himself, “Yea, I think I got that all right. Steve?”

He startles at being called out, looking embarrassed. He’s been staring at Billy since he woke up and Billy has been trying to pretend that he doesn’t notice. He notices.

“Yeah. Yeah, your wounds were really extensive, and any time they touched you you’d start thrashing and then you’d start bleeding even more. You had already lost so much blood at Starcourt, you couldn’t afford to lose any more. They had to sedate you when we brought you in, but you’d always freak out and start thrashing when you were coming to, and your wounds would reopen, so they decided to put you under until you were more healed up.” For all the staring he was doing before, he can’t seem to look at Billy the entire time he talks, looking down at his hands in his lap, over at the kids, up at the ceiling, even at the monitors Billy is hooked up to, anywhere but Billy himself.

“So that, thing, is it,” He swallows hard and feels his eyes welling with tears. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do if the answer to this question isn’t what he thinks it’s going to be. “Is it dead?”

El nods resolutely, reaching out to put her hand on his calf and looks straight into his eyes as she says, “Yes. It is gone. For good. Friends don’t lie.”

He nods, exhales shakily, and then moves his gaze to baby Byers, whose name he should really learn. “You could, feel it, couldn’t you? When it was here. When it was coming. Are you sure? Are you both sure?”

He looks sad when he responds, eyes a little misty and far away again, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Yeah. I could. I did, but I can’t anymore. It’s gone.”

El sits back to grab hold of the hand he was resting on his neck. “Promise. You can’t break a promise. We are ok. It is gone. I promise.”

Steve claps his hands abruptly in order to ease the tension and then says, a little too loudly, “Alright! Billy is alive and well, and awake, so what’s next? Who’s hungry?”

“God,” Billy can’t even remember the last time he ate. “I would kill for a big greasy cheeseburger and fries right now.”

The joke doesn’t land quite as well as he’d hoped, but it gets a couple of nervous kind of laughs from everyone rather than a freak out, so he counts it as a win. Steve runs back into the hall with everyone but El and Max following him, just chanting “Cheeseburgers! Cheeseburgers!” as he runs. Those poor nurses, he’s probably doing them a favor by getting rid of the gaggle of geeks.

Max pulls one of the chairs on his right closer to his bed and sits down in it. El comes up next to the bed on his other side and looks at him. He looks back, warily, because he doesn’t know what she’s going to say. He remembers what he did, when he wasn’t him, and he’s trying to get past the guilt. He’s trying to accept that he didn’t do those things, even though it was his hands and his body doing them.

El nods towards the foot of his bed, silently asking for permission to sit there, and who is he to deny her? She saved his life. He owes her everything. He nods back.

She takes a deep breath, and the look in her eye is determined, but pained, and he doesn’t know where this is going, only that whatever she’s going to say must be hard. It takes something from her. Max reaches out to her to hold her hand, and El is holding on so tightly her knuckles turn white. He clasps his hands gently in his lap, giving her his full attention.

“My papa,” she begins, and he inhales sharply and closes his eyes. He knows where this is going. He knows what she saw. He remembers what he saw. Tanks of water. Monsters. Crumpled cans of soda and a small dark room with a door that only locks from the outside. He feels a hand resting on his knee and opens his eyes again to look at her. Her eyes are watering, and her mouth is pulled down into a frown that’s trembling with the feelings she’s trying to hold in.

“He was a bad man. He hurt Mama. He hurt a lot of people. He hurt me.” She raises her left arm wrist up towards him, still not letting go of Max’s hand, and he sees the _011_ etched into her skin. Oh, no. He’s going to be sick. Is that why they call her El?

She nods like she can hear what he’s thinking, and honestly maybe she can. “He stole me from Mama. To hurt me. To use me. I am special, like you. He had me for a long time. Called me Eleven. There were more of us. He hurt us. I escaped. Mike, he helped me. The party helped me. Hopper and Joyce helped me.” He looks over at Max whose gaze is focused intently on El, squeezing her hand just as tightly right back, giving her the support that she needs. She turns her head and sees him looking at her, and she reaches her left hand silently to grab onto his. He lets her.

“Billy. They can help you. We can help. If you want. Your papa, he is a bad man. He was bad to your mama, like mine was. He is bad to you, like mine was. I can help you. Please let us, let me help. Please.”

“El, God, I don’t even feel like I should be calling you that, are you sure you’re ok with being called that?”

“Yes.” She shrugs, matter of fact. “I am not Eleven anymore. I am El. Sometimes I am Jane, which is what Mama called me. It’s ok. I promise.”

“Ok, El, if you’re sure. I really appreciate this, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, don’t think for a second that I don’t, but I really, I can’t. I can’t let you do that for me. I’ve done some bad shit. I’m not a good person. I don’t deserve it.”

She huffs a breath out of her nose, almost angrily. She scoots forward and grabs his left hand tightly in hers, taking care not to bump the IV. The three of them are sitting in a lopsided circle, joined together by the hands, and it’s strange. He hasn’t had anything this nice and innocent in a while. It’s been a long time since he’s touched anyone in a way that wasn’t to forget about his own problems, it’s been an even longer time since he’s been touched in a way that wasn’t to inflict pain. “You are not bad. You are not like papa, not like my papa, or like yours. You did bad things. You are angry. Me too. I killed people. By myself. Am I bad, Billy? Am I evil?” Her eyebrows are furrowed in a way that’s both angry and worried, and he knows where she’s coming from, but she just doesn’t get it.

“No, fuck no, of course not, but it’s not the same. I hurt good people. I hurt Steve. For no reason. I hurt Max because I was angry and she was there, I ... I don’t deserve anything else. From any of you. You’ve done enough.”

She lets his words sink in, and she relaxes a bit. She looks over at Max and nods her head, sort of like giving her a cue.

“Billy.” Max starts, voice shaky with emotion. “It’s not about deserving. You can’t pick and choose who cares about you. I care about you. We care about you. You are my family. You are my brother. You’re not a bad person. You’re not a burden. You just have to let us help. You don’t have to do anything. Just, let us help you.” Her voice cracks with emotions and she sniffles quickly before continuing to speak. “I know it’s hard, but there is nothing wrong with asking for help when you need it. Please. I can’t lose you, not again. Not ever.”

He’s crying now, silently, just looking at her as tears run down his face, and he nods. “Okay.” He says quietly. “Okay. You can help.”

“Thank you.” El leans in, brushes his hair back and kisses him on the forehead, a gesture that makes him sob, and then she lets go of his hand and leaves. Max lingers, she doesn’t kiss his forehead like El does, but she wipes his tears away gently, and squeezes his hand tightly once more before she leaves. It better suits their relationship, their sibling bond that was warped that they are now both reworking, reshaping into something good. It’s enough. More than enough.

*****

It turns out a greasy cheeseburger and fries isn’t ideal for a first meal after coming out of a medically induced coma. He feels it coming back up almost immediately and doesn’t complain when Max helps him to the bathroom, or when she holds his hair back as he pukes and hunches himself over the toilet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and/or kudos are greatly appreciated! Let me know that I'm not alone in SCREAMING INTO THE VOID about how Billy's redemption arc should've lasted more than 5 seconds! Thanks for reading :)


	3. I am the captain of my soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This will end the way all good things do. He will be left alone with his body broken and bruised, with his heart in his throat and his own blood staining his teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has more words than both chapter 1 and 2 combined ... sorry? Took me a little too long to get this out because I was considering adding another chapter but I just couldn't figure out how to cut or condense it so ... here you go!
> 
> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

He’s restless. It’s been two weeks, only one of which he’s even been awake for, but he’s already tired of sitting and healing and waiting and feeling like the world is passing him by. It makes him want to crawl out of his skin. He’s never stayed still and idle for this long. He’s never wanted to. He still doesn’t want to, but he has to. It’s infuriating.

The nurses and doctors all comment on his incredible rate of healing. They take note of the fact that since he’s been awake, he’s been healing even faster. He hears the way they murmur to each other as they leave his room. It’s unprecedented, he has no other injuries besides the puncture wounds, any other cuts or burns he got during the battle have long since healed. His wounds are just five bright spots of pain that shrink a little more every day, they’ve already shrunk to a third of the size they were when he first got them. He doesn’t want to think about what it means, why he’s healing so fast. He always looks when they draw his blood, just to make sure.

He lets out a breath of relief when he sees himself in the mirror for the first time. It’s late, the moon has been out for hours. No one is staying with him tonight, which is the only reason he’s comfortable enough to do this. The bandages on his wounds now are taped loosely to let them breathe, blood spotting on the ones along his sides with the effort it took him to walk to the bathroom.

Along the edges of the bandages, radiating out from the spots of blood, are deep pinkish-red lines of raised skin. Scars. Or at least, they will be once they’ve fully healed. He closes his eyes in relief, leaning over the sink as he feels his eyes start watering. He didn’t come out unscathed. He went through hell and survived, and it took its pound of flesh. He lets himself cry for a minute, feeling a weight coming off of his shoulders for the first time since he woke up. He is still human. His blood is still red.

Tonight, it’s enough to chase the nightmares away.

*****

Will and El come by every so often to reassure him that the monster is gone, but not in so many words. Hopper and El are staying at Joyce’s house because Hopper’s cabin is still totaled, so it’s easier for them to come together, and he tries not to feel guilty about it. He also tries not to feel guilty about the way that El still limps when she tries moving too fast. _Tries_ being the operative word. El always frowns at him when he starts thinking about it, like since she’s been in his head before, it’s easier for her to latch onto his thoughts. She never says anything, she knows he doesn’t want to hear it, but she frowns at him and doesn’t look away. She waits for him to change his train of thought and relax. She waits for him to be the one to steer the conversation in a different direction.

All she can do is wait him out. When he’s ready, she’ll be there. They all will be.

*****

He’s allowed to go outside for a couple minutes a day, but only as long as he uses a wheelchair. He’s still not allowed to walk much on his own outside of physical therapy, and the doctors have made sure _everyone_ knows and enforces it. 

He bitches and moans about being pushed, because he can do it _himself,_ thank you very much, last time he checked, he still had two working arms. He whines so much that Steve relents, raising his arms in surrender dramatically as he takes an exaggerated step back, making sure that Billy can see how far away he is, how he definitely _isn’t_ helping.

Steve swears up and down that he wasn’t laughing _at_ Billy, and definitely _doesn’t_ say I told you so as Billy starts sweating profusely and shaking with exertion before he can even wheel himself out of the room.

Steve’s practically skipping as he wheels Billy out, too damn smug and humming about how, “You know, if you hadn’t lied about tearing your stitches, _twice,_ you’d probably already be up and waaalking.” Billy just huffs and sinks lower into the seat, trying to make himself as heavy as possible. If Steve is going to insist on pushing him, he damn well isn’t gonna make it easy for him, no matter how grateful he is. “Whatever, pretty boy, try not to crash this wheelchair like you crashed my baby.” _Thank you for stopping me. Thank you for saving my life._

“Hey! Just because of that, you’re stuck with me now. I’m making it my personal mission to be your chauffeur. It’s the least I can do, since you hogged all the big dramatic heroic moments.” _You’re welcome. Don’t mention it. Literally. Don’t._

He gets a little too excited once they’re out in the courtyard, he sees a bench no one’s sitting on and eats absolute shit in his haste to get to it. Steve is silent, hovering above Billy anxiously until he starts crawling towards the bench, muttering, “This is all your fault. You never plant your goddamn feet, you’ve _infected_ me.” Steve laughs so hard he trips over the wheelchair and lands on the floor near the bench, wheezing so loud he sounds just as bad as Billy as he finally pulls himself onto the bench.

Billy sits there with his head tilted towards the sun, just soaking it up for what feels like hours, but is really only a couple of minutes. Steve doesn’t say anything, just rolls the wheelchair to the side of the bench Billy is on, and sits next to him. Like, right next to him. Not all the way on the other side of the bench, even though there’s plenty of room. It warms him just as much as the sun does, and he prays Steve doesn’t notice the blush, and if he does that he thinks it’s just his skin reacting to the sun.

Of course, everyone is in his room as Steve wheels him back, and his gown and hair are still a little disheveled, so Steve can’t _wait_ to tell everyone what happened. They’re going to hold this over his head forever, but he sees Steve laughing so hard he can barely finish his sentences as he tells Robin about it, sees Max’s smug happy smile as she listens, sees how the other shitbirds are smiling and looking generally just, content, and he honestly doesn’t mind it, no matter how much he huffs and groans and acts like he does. He knows they can all pretty much see through him by now anyways.

*****

It takes him a little too long to realize that Steve has been the one driving Max to and from the hospital, and it takes a weight off his shoulders that he didn’t realize was there until it was gone. Jesus. How much shit is he carrying around worrying about that he doesn't even realize until he doesn’t have to anymore? No wonder he’s still practically bedridden.

It’s been about two and a half weeks, so it’s been a couple of days since he’s been given clearance to go outside. As Steve wheels him around the courtyard, he realizes that he hasn’t seen or heard from Susan or Neil in the entire time he’s been here. No one has mentioned them, not Max, not Steve, not even El or the Chief. He tries not to think about what that means, tries to forget about the realization and be in the moment, let himself heal, let himself enjoy spending time with his sister and her stupid nerd friends that have begun growing on him, but he can’t.

He isn’t safe. This will end the way all good things do. He will be left alone with his body broken and bruised, with his heart in his throat and his own blood staining his teeth.

He starts cutting himself off from them over the course of the rest of the week. He stops engaging the kids in conversation, stops initiating contact and conversation with Steve. He stops participating in group discussions, never adds his input unless it’s explicitly asked of him, and even then, it’s usually a one-word answer.

He becomes less willing to accept help, lets himself get a little mean about it. He’s going to have to start doing things for himself again, soon. He needs to get used to it again. He starts pulling his shield of anger back over himself, but it doesn’t fit quite like it used to. He’s grown, the sharp edges of his anger chafe when he tries to fit himself back in it, it’s no longer comfortable and familiar. It’s foreign. It’s heavy. He hates it.

He draws himself in, clenching his heart in his chest, tight and small, so when it all ends, when he loses them, which he will, it won’t hurt anyone but him. 

He’s been fighting monsters since before the ones with tentacles became an issue, since before the Upside Down encroached on this tiny hick town, since before he had ever even heard of Indiana.

He’ll never be safe.

*****

He asks the doctor to start weaning him off of the pain meds. He’s played this game before; he knows how to make it sound amenable. All he has to do is play up his discomfort at the grogginess, make it sound like he’d be doing better, if only he wasn’t so _tired_ all the time. He makes sure to add in a bit about not wanting to become too dependent on the drugs, and besides, he’s been healing so much faster these days, hasn’t he? He doesn’t need as much medicine, nor does he need it so often. Wouldn’t they agree?

Framed like that, the doctor can’t say no.

He takes a couple of extra minutes the next morning to train his heart rate down to a relaxed state. He stretches in a way that tugs a little too much at his stitches, just to brace himself against the pain for the future. 

All he’s thinking about is how he’s going to have to start getting around by himself, while in pain. The hospital bills are no doubt already through the roof, and there’s no way he’ll be able to afford the pain meds once he’s out of the hospital. Better to start getting used to the pain now. If he can take pain meds off the list of debt that stacks up every day he's here, then it’s better for everyone involved.

The kids have noticed what he’s been doing, or trying to do, at least. The doctor mentions him being weaned off the pain medicine, and they all think he’s being distant because of that, and it works for a bit. For a couple of days.

It works until the doctor tells Hopper on a day that Billy is worse off than usual, sweating and cursing and stumbling his way into the bathroom, insisting on doing it _on his own,_ that Billy _asked_ to be weaned off the pain meds. Hopper tells Steve who tells Max who tells El who tells the kids and then it’s all snowballing into a huge mess and this is exactly what he didn’t want to happen, this is exactly what he wanted to avoid.

They won’t _understand._ They can’t. And he may owe them his life, but he doesn’t owe them this.

He doesn’t talk to any of them for the next couple of days.

*****

The day after everyone finds out about the pain meds, Hopper comes to visit him. The kids have just left, unhappy and confused because he still isn’t talking to any of them, and Steve lingers outside of the room, wringing his hands as he looks between Hopper and Billy until Billy nods his ok.

He waves Hopper and Steve in and waits until they get situated, everyone sitting because Hopper is still recovering, and Steve is too fidgety to stand still, so it puts them all on equal ground. It’s a good start, especially considering the kind of conversation they’re about to have.

“So, kid, I know El has told you about her life before I adopted her. She told me, only me, about what she saw in your head, in your memories, things about your father and your mother and things about you. But, I’m going to be honest with you. The rest of them, the kids, Joyce, and even Steve here, figured out what happened. They’ve deduced what happened from what Max has told us, from what you haven’t, and from the way El reacted to all of it. I’m not going to say anything you don’t want me to, and neither is El. They’re not going to get any denials or confirmations from us without your ok. You’ve got my word.”

Billy just nods awkwardly; he honestly doesn’t know what he was expecting. “Yea, I figured she had told you at least, I know it was a lot for her to see. To relive. I didn’t mean to show her, to let her see all of that. I tried to just show her the monster, but she was falling, and I couldn’t catch her, and then the monster ... took over again. I saw some things too, some things that happened to her. I don’t know how much you know about that.”

Steve makes a confused noise in the back of his throat, and blushes profusely when they both turn to look at him. “Sorry, I just, when El said you let her see, I didn’t realize you had seen her too. Pretend I’m not here. Or don’t. Whatever’s easier. Sorry, sorry. I’ll shut up now. Go on.” He waves a hand at Billy frantically, and he has to take a moment to appreciate the fact that a girl with the ability to read minds is also good at keeping secrets.

“Alright kid, listen. I know El and Max have already talked to you, they’ve already told you this, but I’m still going to say it because you need to hear it. We’ve got your back. We will help you, in whatever capacity you need it. This entire thing is in your hands. I’m here as Jim Hopper, as the father of the girl whose life you saved, not the chief, and you can officially tell me as much or as little as you want. If you want to press charges, file a restraining order, whatever. I’ll handle it. The ball is in your court. You’re holding all the cards here. We will follow your lead on this, even if we don’t like it. This is your decision.”

“Even if you don’t like it?” That’s the one thing that gets him about Hopper’s whole spiel, he knew it was coming, he’d been waiting for it, but he didn’t expect that. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

Hopper clears his throat uncomfortably and looks at Steve for help, Steve who’s fists are clenched so tightly around the armrests of the chair that his knuckles are turning white, who isn’t looking at either of them, face pinched tight as he looks out into the hall.

Hopper clears his throat again and Steve comes back to himself, unclenching his fists, shaking out his shoulders, laying his palms flat on his thighs as he looks over at Billy, and he can _see_ the way Steve is forcing himself to relax. It’s fucking weird.

“It means, that we’re going to support you. We are here for you and only you. To help you. And if, if helping you, if doing what you need us to means that nothing happens to that shitbag, that he just fucking, that he just -” He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath, and there he is. _King Steve._ Simmering under the surface, under all of his softness and caring, under all of that sunshine and goodness, this is the rage that gets that fire in Billy going. This is his perfect match. His blood is practically singing, seeing Steve getting this hot and angry and realizing it’s over him, _for_ him, not because of him, for once. “It means that if you don’t want us to do anything to him, we won’t. We’re going to _support you._ We are going to be ok with it.”

“Look kid,” Hopper cuts in again, seeing that Steve is getting more choked by his anger as he continues to try and speak, “I’m not going to lie to you. You know how this shit works. The system sucks. It’s rigged against the people who can really benefit from it, but if you want to pursue the legal route, we will do our damn best to make it stick. I will pull out all the stops. I’m the fucking chief of this town. You have me and the entire police department behind you.”

Billy isn’t going to lie and say he’s never thought about it. He’s thought about it. God, he’s dreamt about it. He’s dreamt about the cops showing up and dragging Neil out of the house, of someone seeing and knowing what’s going on and not looking away, not leaving him alone, but it’s useless. It’s pointless. Hope isn’t something he has the luxury of indulging in, and it’s just not worth it.

“Honestly, chief. It isn’t worth it. Whatever you’ll get to stick, it won’t be enough. It’s my word against his, and Susan’s, and I’m not exactly a model citizen. Even if by some miracle you manage to get enough to send him to jail, he’ll get out, he’ll come back, and he’ll find me. It’ll never end, and he’ll just be even more pissed, and I’m sorry, but I’d rather just. Not. I don’t want to do any of it. It isn’t worth it. I’m almost 18 anyways.”

Hopper nods solemnly, like he knew what Billy was going to say. The glint in his eye is sad, it’s familiar, like he’s decades younger, like he’s been the one sitting in the hospital bed with well-meaning nurses with knowing eyes hovering over him telling him that it’s ok, that they’ll take care of him, and he knows that they can’t. “Alright. You got it, kid.”

Billy looks away.

Hopper and Steve leave. He cries all night, because he’s tired and he’s angry and it’s just all so _much._ He’s so fucking exhausted, physically and emotionally, and he lets the shift change nurses assume it’s because he’s in pain. He lets them give him meds that lull him to sleep.

*****

The good thing about being unremarkable is that nobody questions you as long as you act like you’re supposed to be there. Nobody looks too hard at a respectable young woman poking around the Starcourt remains, especially not when she’s asking such specific targeted questions, things she can’t possibly know about unless she was someone important, someone _in the know._

The one time Robin comes to visit him alone is strange. She marches in with no preamble, and drops a ratty, overused book bag on his bed. She plops herself down right on the foot of Billy’s bed, unzips the bag, and dumps it.

It’s full of folders that are all bursting at the seams. The first one he opens has a laminated surveillance photo of Neil, and the document attached is in Russian. The second is full of redacted files, more surveillance photos, Neil with a tall dude holding a very big gun, Neil talking to a group of dudes with really big guns, Neil with the mayor, Neil on a date with Susan, Neil, Neil, Neil.

He can’t read half of the shit on the documents, he can’t read Russian and all the ones in English are so heavily redacted he doesn’t bother trying, and his hands shake so badly that the papers start to make a weird whooshing sound as they rub against each other. Something warm like hope starts to unfurl in his chest, and he tamps it down, stomps on it before it can get any bigger. He can’t afford to let something like hope ruin him, not right now.

“Does this mean -” He can’t finish his sentence. He can’t say the words out loud, can’t risk them not being true. He can’t.

“Yeah dingus, we got him.” She grabs both of his hands in hers and squeezes, forcing him to meet her gaze. “We got him.”

She doesn’t say anything as he pitches forward, all but shoves his face into her shoulder, and sobs. She holds him, scooting herself closer to him on the bed so he isn’t so hunched over, so he doesn’t put too much strain on his wounds, and lets him get it out. 

She doesn’t say anything when he cries for fifteen minutes straight, just waves the nurses away who come to check on them. She waits until he’s done, and takes out a compact mirror and wet wipes and places them in the middle of the bed.

“Now, you clean yourself up while I go get you some water, because we can’t have Hawkins hero dying from dehydration. And when I come back, I want to know all about that really cute blonde nurse from earlier. What’s her name? How often does she come in here? And is she single?” She’s halfway out the door before he can register what she’s saying, what it _means._

She comes back with a cup of water and a coke, and just sits on the edge of the bed again like nothing happened. “Well? What’s her name? Come on Billy, the people want to know!”

He can’t help but start laughing, practically in her face, and he isn’t laughing at her, shit, she probably thinks he’s such an ass, but as he stops and looks back at her, she’s smiling too. It’s a fond, knowing smile. She’s seen him, she’s put herself out there, and she’s waiting for him to join her.

“Her name is Katie, she’s only been one of my nurses for a couple of days. I think she usually has the night shift.” He can’t help but jab at her a little, he lets his smile get a little sharp, a little predatory, “You know, maybe she switched when she saw you visiting more often during the day. You never know!”

She practically _dies,_ she keels over, screeching as much as she’s laughing, “No fucking way! You’re even worse than Steve!”

They sit and chat for a couple hours, long enough for the shifts to change, and for Billy to make fun of Robin for making heart eyes at all the cute nurses that walk by. She hits him right back with a comment about how it isn’t any worse than the way he’s always looking at Steve, and he pushes her off the bed.

It’s nice. It feels safe.

*****

It’s been three weeks. They’ve been talking more often about discharging him, skirting around the fact that he’s got nowhere to fucking go, that he doesn’t have the support system that he’s going to need once he’s out of here. He tries not to think about it when he notices how everyone is _not_ talking about it.

He realizes the only thing he had that held any monetary value was his Camaro, and maybe before he could’ve sold it to get enough cash for a down payment on an apartment, but it’s worthless now. It’s as torn and busted as he is.

It’s all just too much.

He’s getting out, soon, from the sound of it, and he just can’t fucking deal with everyone. Not right now.

He mumbles something about needing to shit, goes into the bathroom while everyone is still there, the doctors just left, and Billy is doing well, he’s healing well and he’s doing great, and they’re all so fucking _excited._ They’re happy for him, and it’s good. It is. He should be celebrating. He shouldn’t be feeling like he’s drowning, like the world is going to open up and swallow him whole again, except this time he won’t make it back out.

He hoped telling them that he needed to shit would get them off his back for being in the bathroom for longer than usual, but as he flushes the toilet to drown his sobs, someone knocks on the door. Great.

“I’m on the fucking toilet! Can’t you let a man take a shit in peace?”

“Billy? It’s me, Steve. Are you ok in there?”

Jesus. He almost regrets having all these people caring about him now. He can’t even get five minutes to himself to cry in peace. “Yeah, Harrington. I’m _fine._ I am _shitting._ On the toilet, maybe you’ve heard of them? Just leave me the fuck alone.”

“Billy. I know you’re not shitting. Max told me you didn’t take your constipation meds today, and there’s no way you’re gonna be able to shit with all the meds you’re on right now without them.” Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. It just never fucking ends.

He looks terrible, his face is puffy and red, his eyes are swollen, his nose is runny, and he would never let anyone see him like this in his right mind, but he isn’t right now, and maybe it’ll shock Harrington into giving him some goddamn _space._

He marches over to the door and throws it open, instantly regretting his dramatics when the wounds on his sides open up again, but he doesn’t fucking care. Not right now. The room is empty besides Steve, and thank God for small mercies.

“No, _Harrington,_ I’m not fucking fine. You’re right! I wasn’t shitting. I was in here crying my eyes out because I’m about to get kicked out of the hospital onto the fucking curb and I don’t have any fucking money. I don’t have a fucking car. I have nothing. I am nothing. I am going to die on the fucking street.” He’s laughing hysterically now, leaning heavily against the door frame because it is the only thing holding him up, the only thing stopping him from collapsing into a ball onto the floor and wailing his heart out. “I survived being possessed and impaled by an interdimensional flesh monster, and I am going to die on the corner of some street, probably not too far from here, from fucking sepsis or some shit! Fuck.” He closes his eyes for a minute and takes a deep breath, grounding himself, reigning the worst of his emotions in. He waits until he doesn’t feel so much like falling to the ground and screaming. “Karma is a fucking bitch.”

He opens his eyes again and turns to look at Steve, still standing in front of the door, and his mouth is just ... hanging open in shock. He’s blinking at Billy like he doesn’t even know who he is right now.

He rolls his eyes and moves to turn the sink on. “Jesus Harrington, I know I’m an ugly crier, but that kind of reaction is a little extreme.” He braces himself on the sink and ducks down to stick his face under the tap. He doesn’t have the energy for anything else.

He’s rubbing one of the too rough, almost abrasive towels over his face, trying to scrub some more redness in, trying to even it out, when the door slams shut. He startles, and when he pulls the towel back down, he and Steve are alone in the bathroom. With the door closed.

What. The. Fuck.

“Ok. I’m done crying. You can stop with the dramatics.” He moves to step around Steve, towards the door, and Steve grabs his arm, stopping him. He still has no idea what the fuck is going on.

“Harrington. _Steve._ Tell me what’s going on right now or neither of us is going to be very happy with what happens next.”

Steve lets go of his arm immediately like he’s been burned.

“Billy. _Billy._ Oh my god, oh my god.” Steve is running his hands through his hair frantically, looking a little cagey and very frustrated, and Billy steps back to sit on the toilet. He’s been standing too long already, and he has a feeling this is going to be exhausting enough without the added strain.

He starts pacing in front of the sink after Billy sits on the toilet, hand still coming up occasionally to tug at his hair, but he seems more settled now that he has room to move. “How long? How long have you been thinking like that? That the hospital is going to dump you on the street? That we were all just going to sit back on our heels and fucking let them? What the hell? Do you really think we, after all of that, would let that happen? That even one of us would let them fucking do that to you?”

This is quickly veering into very personal, very deep uncomfortable territory Billy really doesn’t want to be treading, especially not with Steve, who he’s already buried enough deep uncomfortable feelings about. But the cat is out of the proverbial bag. He’s said it, Steve heard it, and he’s too fucking good to let it slide. He cares too much. It burns him deep down to his core, in ways that are both good and bad.

“Listen Steve, I’ve been looking after myself for a long time. I don’t have anyone. And that’s fine, it was fine. I was enough for me, I didn’t fucking need my mom or my piece of shit dad, who turned out to be even _shittier_ than I thought. Point is, I didn’t need anyone. But I’m not like that anymore.” He hates being weak. He hates that he has to say this, he hates even more that he really doesn’t need to say it but Steve is so earnest and good, he _wants_ to say it. He wants to tell him. “I need help. Help that no one is here to give. I don’t have a mother and in case you haven’t been watching the news, my dad is a fucking Russian terrorist, and Susan, my legal guardian, however fucking loosely we can use that term, isn’t showing up. Not for me. I am alone. Once I’m out of here, that’s it. And it’s fine. It is. But I needed five minutes to fucking cry about it before I get myself together. That’s it. I’m not going to talk about it.”

Steve steps closer to him, arm reaching out towards Billy’s shoulder before thinking better of it and putting it back down by his side. His eyes are watering, and he looks away, swipes a hand under them quickly before looking back at him. His mouth is set, determined. “Ok. You don’t have to talk about it. But, can I – can I ... hug you?”

Billy shakes his head, eyes watering, and he’s about to start fucking crying all over again. “Alright, alright. Get over here.” He spreads his legs a little as he sits on the toilet, gesturing for Steve to step between them. “I’m not standing up though, so get ready to have a shirt full of snot.”

Steve’s voice is watery and breaks a little as he says, “That’s fine.” As he pets Billy’s hair. As he holds Billy and lets him cry into his shirt that’s definitely way too soft and expensive for him to be ruining like this. God. He hates rich people.

“Billy,” he starts, gently, and rubs his arm on Billy’s shoulder as he tenses. He waits for Billy to relax again before he speaks. “You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to talk. I promise. Just, can you listen to me for a minute? Please?”

Billy nods, and wraps his arms around Steve’s torso, and Steve lets him. Steve lets him rest his cheek against him, lets him listen to the soft thumping of his heart. No, he doesn’t just let him, he _encourages_ him. He runs his arms along Billy’s back, pets his hair again, holds him in a way that he hasn’t been since he was a kid. It’s soft, and it’s nice, and Billy would do anything, _anything,_ to stay here forever. “Ok. I’m listening.”

“We are not letting the hospital kick you to the curb. _I_ am not letting them do that. You’re coming to stay with me. At my house. But only if you want. Joyce is fine with you staying with them, Hopper is fine with it too, you saved El’s life, he owes you big time. Even Ms. Henderson is fine with you staying with them, Dustin hasn’t shut up about your heroics, and even though she doesn’t know the whole story, she’s a real softie. She’s great. You don’t have to go back to that house, and I know Susan is your legal guardian but Hopper can take care of that. Max doesn’t want you back there either, she doesn’t trust Susan anymore, not after everything. None of us would make you go back there, none of us want that. My point is, you’re not alone. Not anymore. I’m sorry that you’ve been feeling like this, that it’s been sitting over your head and that you’ve been suffering instead of being able to celebrate how well you’ve been doing, but you don’t have to worry. You’re not in this by yourself. We’re all here for you. You can cry as long as you want about it, this fucking sucks, and I have no idea how you’re feeling. I don’t understand it. I’m not going to pretend to. I don’t know how it feels to have my body betray me the way yours is right now. But I promise, I’ll listen. As long as you want me to. I have a lot of love and hugs to give.” A moment of heavy silence follows, like he just said something too deep but doesn’t really want to take it back, and he finishes with, “I also have a lot of sweaters you can ruin, just in case. Us rich snobs have tons of those.”

Billy snorts wetly into Steve’s shirt, and god, how is this dude even real? He’s a fucking angel. He looks up at him, chin resting on his stomach, and Steve is looking at him so softly, so fondly, like he actually fucking _cares,_ and you know what? It’s what Billy needs. It’s what he deserves. He can be better, he _wants_ to be better, and Steve can help him. Steve wants to help him. The least Billy can do is let him.

“Alright, pretty boy. But tell anyone that I got snot all over your fancy rich boy shirt, and it’s game over.” He narrows his eyes playfully, willing Steve to take the bait, trying to gauge how their relationship can be now, and it works. Steve blushes a bit and grabs some toilet paper, balls it up in his hand and hands it to Billy. “Wipe your nose at least, God forbid anybody find out that Keg King Billy has normal bodily fluids like the rest of us peasants.” He’s still smiling so softly at Billy, so _fondly,_ not moving away as Billy blows his nose, not moving until Billy braces his arm on the sink to stand, and he feels something crack open in his chest. It’s warm, and it’s good.

He’s ok.

*****

He gets discharged right before he hits week four, and it’s a fucking party. He still has to use a cane to walk, and he has to come back to the hospital two times a week for physical therapy, but he’s so excited to be out that he doesn’t even care. Will is talking about how they can fancy up his cane, make it look as cool as Billy does now that he’s got all those badass scars, and it’s nice. He’s happy. He’s safe.

Max and the rest of the kids have already moved all of Billy’s things into one of the guest rooms in Steve’s house, taking care to set it up in a way that didn’t look like the way he had it in his old room.

Steve orders pizza, Hopper and Joyce get a bunch of soda and drinks, Robin brings over movies, and everyone comes over. Everyone. They watch movies, eat, laugh, play board games, have fun, and Billy finds himself alone in the kitchen after everyone has gone to sleep.

The kids insisted on having a sleepover, and since it’s not a school night, the parents all agreed. The kids, Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan are clustered together on various couches and air mattresses, and Joyce and Hopper are in another one of the guest rooms. Steve comes into the kitchen to stand next to Billy, and it’s so quiet.

It’s just the two of them. Billy feels happy. He feels safe. He feels _loved._

He leans in towards Steve and kisses him.

Steve kisses him back immediately, and it’s fucking _great,_ this is the greatest thing that’s ever fucking happened to him, but then he pulls back. He pulls away. Not so great.

“Billy - Billy. You don’t have to, you don’t owe me this, dude. You don’t owe me anything. I don’t need anything from you that you don’t want to give. I’m ok with just being friends.” _Oh._

“I don’t want to be your friend, Steve. I want to be your _boyfriend._ I want to kiss you and hold your hand and maybe suck your dick. If you want. I _like_ you, dickwad. I’m not doing this because I think I owe you. I’m doing it because I want to, and because Robin and Max are getting sick of my heart eyes.”

Steve leans forward to rest his forehead against Billy’s, and he huffs out a laugh. “I think they even had a bet going.”

“Well,” He smiles sharply at Steve, dangerously, and it’s so familiar it makes Steve’s heart skip a beat. “Maybe we should ask El when her bet was, just to make sure she wins. I think I owe her that at least.”

“Always such a charmer, huh?”

Billy’s smile turns into something soft and sweet, and Steve can’t help but plant a kiss on his nose as he blushes, and another when he blushes even more. “I may have been known to be a romantic. Depends on who you ask.”

Steve already knows just who to ask. “So you’re telling me Robin wasn’t lying about you waxing poetic about my hair?”

“Oh come on, can you fucking blame me? Have you seen yourself? She’s lucky that’s all I subjected her to. Come on. Let’s go to bed, I’ll tell you tomorrow all about how much I whined about your bambi eyes if you really want.”

“Bambi? Should I be offended?”

“It’s not my fault you look like a disney princess!”

*****

It’s been a couple of months. He’s healed up fully and he’s done with physical therapy. He got a job at a garage fixing up cars. It turns out his camaro wasn’t irreparably damaged, the bones were still intact and the owner of the garage was impressed with how much work he did himself, and offered him a job that he accepted as soon as he was completely healed and cleared by his physical therapist.

Neil tried running away, but they found him a week later in Miami. He was arrested and sent to some CIA blacksite, and nobody heard from him again. Good fucking riddance.

Susan and Max still live in their old house, but Max stays at Steve’s with Billy as often as possible. Nobody asks, but they all know she’s still sick at the thought of being in a house for too long with the woman who let Billy suffer for so long. They all get it.

Steve and Billy are still going strong. They’re in love, and they’re both stubborn, but they’re working on it, and it’s good for them. They learn to talk about their problems, to communicate. To let the other help them. Everyone who needs to know about it knows, and nobody’s a shit about it. Not that they thought they would be, but it’s still nice. Billy is happy. Happier than he ever thought he’d be, happier than he ever thought he deserved to be.

Robin is seeing the daughter of the owner of the garage, and that was a twist he didn’t see coming. Apparently, she’s a great leader for the nerd game they all play, and Billy is just thankful they haven’t roped him into it. Yet. He’s managed to avoid it, but he knows the second they ask he won’t be able to refuse. He’s gone soft, and they know it. He doesn’t mind it though, just acts like he does. He’s still got to keep up appearances, after all.

One day during winter break when everyone’s over, just chatting and chilling in the living room, El approaches him. She’s got a smile on her face, and she’s empty handed, but he blinks and then there’s a can of soda in her hand.

“No way! El! Your powers are back? That’s amazing!” He picks her up and swings her around, and everyone is swarming them in an instant. He’s still whooping, sitting her up on his shoulder as she holds the can aloft triumphantly, wiping blood from her nose with her other hand.

“She’s back baby!” He puts her down and hugs her again, tightly, he knew how worried she was that they’d never come back, and she hugs him back just as hard.  
She breaks off the hug and walks to the kitchen to put the can of soda on the counter. “Now you.”

“Me? I haven’t tried since … that day. I don’t know if I can.”

“You can. You are like me. Just try. For me?”

Everyone is staring at him with wide eyes, seemingly remembering how he took down the creature, and it’s a lot of pressure. But, she believes in him. She always has. He can try. For her.

“Ok, but not the can. Something … else.”

He focuses on his cane that’s sitting next to the TV. Distantly, he hears the sound of metal creaking. Max puts her hand on his arm, and he relaxes instantly. He hadn’t realized he was so tense. He lifts up his hand and the cane flies into it. El walks up to him and runs her hand along the body of the cane that is now warped and twisted, but still functional. Her eyes are twinkling proudly, and she smiles hugely at him, practically bouncing on her feet in her excitement. _I knew it,_ her smile seems to say. _I told you so. You are just like me._

*****

He is happy. He is safe.

He is good. He is loved.

Nothing hurts ever again.

*****

_I kneel into a dream where I am good & loved. I am good. I am loved. My hands have made some good mistakes. They can always make better ones._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The snippet of a poem at the end is from [Natalie Wee](https://natalieweewrites.com/post/159435295729/i-kneel-into-a-dream-where), it just screamed Billy to me, and I had to put it in.
> 
> Please leave a comment and/or kudos if you liked it! I live for validation and feedback. I'm soft.


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